


Stories of the Second Self: Trash Never Sleeps

by John_Steiner



Series: Alter Idem [81]
Category: Essential Workers - Fandom, Urban Fantasy - Fandom, social protest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:53:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22568923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Steiner/pseuds/John_Steiner
Summary: Before and during the federal occupation of Cincinnati one thing was certain in the age of Alter Idem. However, bad things get, uncollected garbage can always make it worse. With that understanding a regular human variety garbage truck driver still does his rounds and sees that there is more than one definition of trash.
Series: Alter Idem [81]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618813





	Stories of the Second Self: Trash Never Sleeps

There was no one day signaling that Cincinnati fell to pieces. It wasn't a single incident that made the feds come in and take over the city. It was a slow creep that we all saw coming.

For everyone else, that meant putting their lifestyles and their lives on hold. Not me. There's that unofficial motto of the U.S. Postal Service that says, 'Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.'

In truth? They should give it to us garbage workers. In the early days, it was dudes in costumes romping around the city righting wrongs, even if there weren't any. Then the holy rollers really lost their shit and started after the supernaturals, then some of the supernaturals went nuts... or is that backwards. Whatever! Who cares who started it.

Though, the time when vampires ran around unchecked was pretty scary. My shift starts before the sun is up, so I have to be extra cautious. I don't mess around with crosses, which don't work by the way, or any of that jazz. No, I went and got me a 410 revolver loaded with shotgun shells. Not that I ever needed it for vampires, as it turns out. Weird thing.

Fast forward two years later, well, toss in a couple months or so, and now I'm hearing talk that the federal occupation is coming to a close. Before, I was paid by the city of Cincinnati to do my rounds. Then, the feds threw money at me to keep doin' my thing. That included hauling off whole demoed buildings to the city outskirts or casualties to hastily thrown up CDC incinerators. Dark days, but the feds paid well for the work, so I took it.

And here I am again. Same route, same Cincinnati, but definitely a new city, and a wildly different society. A National Guard checkpoint comes up, and I slow to fall in line behind other cars of the morning commute. They're on the way to work, and I'm just about done for the day.

"Alright sir," a soldier waves at me from the side of the road and chops his hand down at a certain point. "Pull up to here."

"Got'cha," I call back to him and nod.

The engine revs up while I shift a gear, advance about ten feet, and shift back down for idling. It's become a habit for me to check my mirrors for desperate giants. You never know when one decides to force you to a stop and "grocery shop" through your truck. So glad I didn't turn into one of the Pentacastes.

A couple more movements puts me up in line with the booth, and a Guardsman steps up on the side of my truck. "Sir, I need your ID."

Having pulled it out on the last movement, I pass my driver's license over to him. "Here 'ya go."

"Thank you sir," he crisply says and runs his bar code scanner over it. "Alright, standby for inspection."

"Yeap," I reply, leaning back and then flip on the XM radio.

Sure enough, talk radio's hurlin' the issues of the day at me. "Right, right, but we can't know what these, so-called, 'supernaturals' are all about, can we?"

"Exactly," the interviewing guest concurs too quickly for this to be a real debate. "We've seen what the vampires are capable of. And now, we have to accept one as our mayor. A candidate who originally was on our side when it came to reining in werewolves, and now openly employs them. There are more working in Cincinnati PD, along with fallen angels."

"It's only an opinion that they're fallen, though," the radio host interjects.

"I'm sure that some churches who are looser with biblical interpretation will say that they're just law abiding citizens," the guest, whose name or credentials I still don't know, spouts off with a sneer I don't need a TV to see in his voice. "And yet, we have Nephilim in this city also. And horned Pentacastes... whatever they call themselves. Fae? Could that not simply be new age speak for demons?"

"There is a counter proposal by some in the scientific community," the host brings up, as I watch Guardsmen run a cursory inspection of the trash I collected today. "That these... I guess, people represent some sort of mutations that laid dormant until an environmental trigger of some kind."

"The same scientists whose supposed expertise can't explain how the witchcraft is possible?" the guest belittles, "Or...."

"Ehh," I sigh and switch channels. "Enough of that. How 'bout music?"

"Okay, sir," the Guardsman declared to me. "You're cleared to go."

"Thank you," I reply with, and start off down the road.

I dump my load, and then head down the last set of streets on my route. However, turning onto that street I see a huge crowd in the middle of the road. They're gathered outside some school and holding up signs.

"'No demons or monsters schooled with our kids,'" I read aloud from one sign, and then see others. 'Leash your howlers.' 'Who let the zoo animals out?' 'Giants: too big to be around my kids.'

"Jesus christ," I moan and shake my head.

Someone notices me waiting for them to clear the road, but instead they approach my truck to hand up a flier to me. "Care to help us keep mutants and monsters out of our schools?"

"No, I'm not an asshole," I say in, what I figure is a translation, and push the pamphlet out of my window. "But thanks all the same."

"Sir," the caked-on-faced lady protests, "Do you not have children? Do you not care that our human kids are being forced to go to school with dangerous animals? Don't you know that these horns and claws the mutant kids bring to school are capable of serious harm?"

"So are guns," I snark, "but we're all fine with those. That's how freedom works, lady. Get'chr self a UVC light for vampires and silver-anything for the werewolves. If it's Fae you're all worried about, just remember they can't sneak around with hooves clopping like that. As to the giants? Toss 'em a burger or ten. Hell, they're cheaper than ever."

"You're no help!" she gets all snooty and heads back to protest with the others.

I lean my head out. "Hey! I gotta do my rounds!"

None of them hear me, even the bitchy lady who looked at me when I hollered. So, I try to edge around them slowly. Yeah, it's passive-aggressive, but if I didn't try it, they'd then write complaint letters saying I left their trash uncollected. Wouldn't help myself there.

A couple honks of the horn, and more revving of the engine seems to get my point across. Though, they move just enough that my truck will fit and no more. Naturally, they scowl at me when my truck brushes against their bright stay-at-home attire and lily-white asses, like- sure, I'm the asshole.

"Urgh," I mumble once finally clear. "Wouldn't have thought the movies got it dead on like that."


End file.
